<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>imagine being loved by me by AlphaBanana</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28300743">imagine being loved by me</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlphaBanana/pseuds/AlphaBanana'>AlphaBanana</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Wayhaven Chronicles (Interactive Fiction)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Classical allusions, F/M, Literary References &amp; Allusions, so many</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 14:17:22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,061</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28300743</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlphaBanana/pseuds/AlphaBanana</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Absence may make the heart grow fonder...but it certainly makes it much more difficult for Nate to express himself.<br/>Or: Nate tries to write the detective a letter.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Female Detective/Nathaniel "Nate" Sewell</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>A series of familiar letters</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>imagine being loved by me</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/humble_bumble_bee/gifts">humble_bumble_bee</a>.</li>



    </ul></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>
    <span>“How long will you be away?” Amelia smiles for Nate, always genial and free with her affection - but there is a tightness there that makes Nate ache for her, for </span>
  </em>
  <b>
    <em>both</em>
  </b>
  <em>
    <span> of them.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“A week.” Two words which seem to stretch an eternity, and he pulls her gently into an embrace, wanting to soak her presence up, as if it can give him strength and can sustain him more than mere food (or even blood).</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“That doesn’t seem so bad.” Her tone is calm and level as usual - ever the pragmatist, his Amelia, even as he feels like he is breaking in two. Kisses her forehead, and wishes he could imbibe some of her strength.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“It does to me.” The thought of being away from her makes his heart clench, and he clutches at her tighter to him, feeling her against him.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Green eyes spark with mischief. “You’ll just have to be patient - one week.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>And then she tilts her head to ask silently for a kiss - as if she ever needs to ask.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>**</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They have been in this frigid, godforsaken wasteland, in the far north of Alaska, for the best part of three weeks - </span>
  <em>
    <span>too long</span>
  </em>
  <span>, and the time stretches out like a noose, constricting more than the cold in Nate’s lungs as he tosses and turns in his cot. He does not bother to </span>
  <em>
    <span>try</span>
  </em>
  <span> not to think of Amelia, burnished hair and emerald eyes so far away he wants to </span>
  <em>
    <span>weep</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Just to see her (</span>
  <em>
    <span>without </span>
  </em>
  <span>Felix having to show him how to open the messages she sends) would be enough - and sometimes he thinks that he </span>
  <em>
    <span>can</span>
  </em>
  <span>, that he can see the impression of her on his pillows, strawberry blond tresses splayed and warm against the cold, before he is cruelly reminded that he is without her once more, and the reflexive smile at the mere thought of her dims on his lips.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He resolves to write her a letter, to try and express</span>
  <span>—</span>
  <span>express </span>
  <em>
    <span>something</span>
  </em>
  <span>, to show at least the tip of the iceberg of emotions that threatens to crush him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Finds himself drawing on the classical education of his boyhood - modern literature seems to hint at depth but it never truly expresses what he means. It does not feel </span>
  <em>
    <span>worthy</span>
  </em>
  <span> of Amelia (and he can hear her accuse him of snobbery, with a small, secret smile in her voice, and finds that he does not mind as much when it is her, instead of Maaka or Tane).</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nate has barely laid pen to paper when he feels overwhelmed by an inexorable </span>
  <em>
    <span>need</span>
  </em>
  <span> to see her - and quite abruptly, Nate understands how Orpheus must have felt. She pulls him to her, and he would descend to any depths for her</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Before this, I had had no true home before the sea - the last place I felt truly safe. But I wish I could be with you, or you with me, or us together and</span>
  </em>
  <span>—</span>
</p><p>
  <span>No, that does not sound right. Strikes through, tries again.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>You soothe the scars of</span>
  </em>
  <span>—</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>That</span>
  </em>
  <span> does not bear thinking about.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>You are a sculptor, that you chip away at me to reveal something raw and beautiful long-forgotten under the surface, a statue to make Praxiteles weep</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nate </span>
  <em>
    <span>does</span>
  </em>
  <span> miss the way she chips at long-constructed walls - even as he grows ever more afraid that she will discover something base, something </span>
  <em>
    <span>ugly</span>
  </em>
  <span>, something which will make her flee.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>What scares him almost more than that is the depth of his need. He has </span>
  <em>
    <span>wanted</span>
  </em>
  <span> before, but never like this, never to this extent, and the vast, gaping expanse of his longing is wide as the sea and thrice as deep. There is something dreadful about devotion, about </span>
  <em>
    <span>needing</span>
  </em>
  <span> another, especially when before</span>
  <span>—</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Before does not matter when it is her. Before </span>
  <em>
    <span>cannot</span>
  </em>
  <span> matter when it is her, and he pushes down those thoughts, suffocating them before they can draw breath.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>My religion is love, is you</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Some days it feels as if Amelia is the last vestige of truth, that the </span>
  <em>
    <span>love</span>
  </em>
  <span> between them (and there is no way of denying it now, to deny it would be anathema to his very soul) is a fleeting example of a myth of true love he has never had cause to believe in before now.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>My heart has been singing an incomplete song, until I felt your heart whisper back. I have wanted to sing, find a song - and I have thwarted Zeus, found my other half and with you my true power</span>
  </em>
  <span>—</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Strikes that out.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Aphrodite weeps for you, dearheart, </span>
  </em>
  <b>
    <em>because</em>
  </b>
  <em>
    <span> of you. She felt in her bones that this world would be filled with such angelic perfection, that she had been surpassed in every way - and such a punishment would be fitting for that goddess, for having almost killed me with love for you.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Amelia loves him - at least, he hopes he does, </span>
  <em>
    <span>prays</span>
  </em>
  <span> she does...but even he knows she would roll her eyes at that.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Strikes all of that out.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Ma douleur exquise est devenue un pur plaisir</span>
  </em>
  <span>—</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Te quiero no solo por como eres, sino por como soy yo cuando estoy contigo</span>
  </em>
  <span>—</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>har jaa raa negaah mikonam eshq-e to raa beh yaad mi aavaram. to donyaay-e man hasti</span>
  </em>
  <span>—</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>لم أقع في الحب، لقد مشيت إليه بخطى ثابتة، مفتوح العينين حتى أقصى مداها، إني واقف في الحب، لا واقع في الحب</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>All struck out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>All insufficient, one way or another.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I could never fly too close to the sun if it were you. I could soar like a bird and live longer than most with your heated rays burning my skin as I shrouded myself in your warmth. I would let you devour me whole and melt the wings to my flesh.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Strikes that out, too. Tries again.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I love you as Icarus loved the sun - too close, too much</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nate must push those thoughts away - it is enough that she is with him, that they are together in this moment in spirit if not in body, and her presence is so strong in his mind’s eye that he can almost taste her scent in the air</span>
  <span>—</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nate presses so hard with his fountain pen that he tears the sheet he has been working on, and he has to discard that draft too.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Picks up another sheet and pauses. Writes simply.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I miss you. I want you. I love you.</span>
  </em>
</p>
  </div></div>
</body>
</html>